Nico di Angelo: New York Necromancer
by Incinerator1
Summary: Nico is a necromancer who left NYC after the death of his parents. But 15 years later when his sister is brutally murdered, he returns to find who and why. Was it a gangster looking to settle a score? Or maybe the deity of death that's taken an interest in him? No matter, whoever it is, he is going to find his sister's killer and send them straight to hell. (Death/Swearing/Gore)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter I: The Necromancer

My 73' Cadalac Eldorado convertible – stolen about three cities ago – pulls up in the parking space of some nameless Texas dive bar. The dark blue sedan I've been following since Dallas is parked neatly beside a bunch of angry looking motorcycles, complete with flame decals and chrome women. From four cars parked outside, red and blue lights still flashing with a large "Texas State Trooper" plastered on the side doors I can tell my "friend" has already started.

"Shit, I'm too late." I growled, shutting off the engine. I feel around my body, checking each piece of gear on me just to make sure I've got all my shit together.

Graveyard dirt smudged on my forehead, my belt buckle (an elaborate weave of braided iron strips), miscellaneous paper charms and my watch. An Illinois Sangamo Special from 1919, railroad grade. It keeps great time, but it's the most dangerous weapon in my arsenal.

I _really_ hope I don't need it.

Next is my trusty knapsack; it's about as old as the Nintendo 64 and filled to the brim with everything a Necromancer like myself would need: knucklebones, the noose from the neck of a hanged murderer, goat's blood, a pouch of the graveyard dirt I had smudged on my head along with salt, ground bone and a bit of blood dried under a full moon. And last but not least, my more conventional weapons, my WWI U.S M1917 trench knife, complete with a built in knuckle duster on the handle and the 9mm Browning Hi-Power, custom made for the Nazi Einsatzgruppen, it even has Third Reich stamps here and there. I've seen a lot of evil things in this business, but this gun is just nasty. It's a murderer's gun, a sadist's gun, used to strike down countless innocents in hate. I don't like shooting it, heck I don't even like looking at it; pulling the trigger feels like cockroaches are crawling under my skin. But hell, in my hands, the thing has enough firepower to make a 50 Cal sniper look like a BB gun.

It's not as bad as the watch though, but sometimes the best tools are the ones that shouldn't exist in the first place.

I stick the gun in the holster at my back, but keep the knife in my hands as I step out of my car and head towards the bar.

Adolfo Constanzo is a real piece of work (and a piece of shit too depending on who you ask). Started learning Voodoo when he was a kid and moved to Mexico to start selling his "magic" to drug lords and hit men. In the 80's he started killing a shit ton of people for his Voodoo till his own followers shot him up cause he didn't wanna go to jail. And that's the end of his story.

At least until a month ago when his voodoo magic actually brought him back to life.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Hey _El Padrino_." I said. I stood at the doorway, looking over a grisly scene that would give Freddy Krueger nightmares. It took nearly all of my willpower to keep my lunch from spilling all over the floor. Don't get me wrong, I've seen a ridiculous amount of death, but even I have my limits.

The lucky ones died quickly, still in their seats but with their heads blown to bits all over the countertop. The others, particularly the Troopers, were the real horror show. I'm not going to go into all of the gory details, but to give you an idea: one guy was pinned to the far wall with the blades of a ceiling fan, chest cavities were opened to reveal empty cavities. Impaled on barstools, shredded by a million cuts from broken glass. One poor bastard was just a pair of legs; who knows what Constanzo did with the rest of him.

There are no ghosts anywhere. With this much carnage there's sure to be a shit ton of ghosts floating around. Constanzo's probably eaten them.

He looks like a malnourished forty-year-old white guy in clothes that went out of style twenty years ago. He had some remnants of a mullet hanging from his head and had on a pair of thin-rimmed glasses on his nose. But that's what he looked like on this side; over on the Underworld Side, where the dead sit and wait for whatever comes after, he's a chaotic mass of ghostly faces and screams. The Loa, voodoo spirits that made sure he still kept kicking pulsed underneath his skin like hot coals in a fireplace.

After Constanzo had resurrected himself, word spread that he was doing more of his massacre magic. The magic community wasn't really shocked at the revelation; cheating death isn't as hard as it seems. He'd been dicking around with the Loa in his 80's killing spree, unknowingly feeding on the ghosts of those he'd slaughtered. Of course nobody tried to put him back in the grave; I mean, who cares if you've come back after thirty plus years. But once the bodies started piling up, that's when they brought me in.

Magic is like fight club, first rule is you don't talk about it. If regular morons in the world knew what really goes on in their world, they'd shit bricks and then shove their way into our world.

"You are one persistent motherfucker Nico di Angelo. I thought I'd left you back in… where was it? San Diego?" He said, taking a swig of his Smirnoff.

"Los Angeles. Now put your hands where I can see them." I say, drawing my browning and aiming right at his head.

On the other side, I see the faces of the Loa flare up and the ghosts around him swirl faster. Seeing the other side layered onto ours is pretty useful, except for having to ask myself if what I'm looking at is real or not. But I've had my entire life to practice so I think I'm good.

Most witches and wizards are born with a specific talent. Elemental control, illusions, transformations, divination, some people have it, some people don't. I got dead things.

Go me.

"Now now, no need to be rash. I've actually been waiting for you." I raised my eyebrow at the statement, but kept my gun trained on him. "Once I killed enough people I was sure you'd feel it and come straight for me."

Wow, he is really overestimating my skills.

"I'm good Constanzo, but I'm not that good. I've got a scanner in the car and heard some chatter about a mass murder. I assumed you'd fucked off to Mexico by now." Constanzo looked disappointed, but his demeanor barely changed as he took another drink.

"You should just leave me be. Drop the whole 'holier than thou' bullshit and let one of your own live in peace. One necromancer to another." I cringed at the word. "Necromancer", it makes me think of Dungeons and Dragons; dark towers and evil wizards resurrecting skeletons and shit like that. I mean, sure I bleed the occasional black ram under a blood moon, but really? It's the 21st century, get with the program.

"Two things." I said, counting them down with my off hand. "One, you're technically dead so you've got no life to live. And two, I've kinda got a contract to make you rest in pieces so… yeah. Sorry."

"You really think you have a chance boy?" He asked, setting his vodka on the counter.

"Got you back in Los Angeles though." I remembered, he had been hiding out in some vacant luxury home, using it as a ritual/research space. I can understand why, the place was built on a nexus of magic that practically poured through the streets. Whoever built that place really knew what they were doing cause his spells had a bit more oomph.

I barely made it with all my limbs, but I got lucky. As he was throwing me around like a ragdoll, I saw a piece one of the Loa he'd trapped hanging out of him. With everything I had I threw a banishing spell at it, tore the poor bastard loose and sent it home. After that it was like unwrapping a Christmas gift, I started pulling out all the Loa as Constanzo's grip on them weakened. He escaped, but I definitely hurt him worse than he hurt me.

"Look, enough with the bullshit, this can either end with both of us walking out as friends, or me walking out with your corpse." Constanzo narrowed his eyes dangerously, but that only made me narrow my eyes as well.

"I'll take my chances."

With that, I unloaded a few rounds into Constanzo. I doubt they'd even tickle him considering the Loa were basically like steel under his skin, but this was just the appetizer. Constanzo channeled a huge purple fireball into his hands and flung it right at me. I vaulted over a pool table, narrowly avoiding a fiery death but I fucked up the landing and crashed hard into a few barstools. Constanzo took that chance to open fire with some guns he'd lifted from the Troopers. A bullet grazed my arm, but that's about all the hits he got off on me before I ducked behind a flipped over pool table and fired back. I heard the walls and floor splinter

 _Four shots. Ok, time to end this._ I thought. I reached into my bag for the bag of dust I had talked about earlier. I dug up as much of it as I could hold and waited. I could hear Constanzo changing up another fireball to blast me to bits, so that's when I struck. Last time we met he'd tried the fireball shit, and this time I've prepared for it. I threw the fistful of powder in a wave between us, scattering them on as many of the corpses it could reach. The enchantment on the dust works wonders, as soon as he let it loose, the fireball fizzles out as soon as it passes the dust.

I jump out of cover, pop off two more shots; I need to make it look good. Constanzo's smart and stops with the fireballs, instead opting to levitate a table and throw it at me. I duck under it and shoot once more.

 _Seven shots._ There's a sense of wounded pride every time I intentionally miss, but that's just background noise as I dive under another table. However Constanzo is waiting and the next thing I know his emaciated hand is wrapped around my throat. He's much stronger than he looks as he slammed me into the wall with ease. Now that he's got me, I'm praying to as many gods as I can that the spell I put in the dust works.

"You thought you could kill me with that little pop gun?" he says, squeezing my neck tighter. I'm barely able to reply, but I've still got one more wisecrack to give. I mutter something intelligible, and Constanzo loosens his grip on me so he could hear better.

"You got something to say?" I nod

"Surprise motherfucker."

I could see him tense as the barrel of my Browning presses against the side of his head.

It took about a week to scrounge up the things I needed to take him out and to make a plan that wouldn't get me killed. I had to be close enough to keep him distracted and get the drop on him, but I couldn't do it without some help. It was very polite of him to leave so many corpses lying around.

One of the headless bodies standing behind him, reanimated for about the next thirty seconds, pulls the trigger sending bullet number eight – made from silver and gold and engraved with the symbols of all the Loa families, blessed by the great Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte themselves – blasting through Constanzo's head. His body falls to the floor, green flame bursting from the hole in his head spreading to the rest of him. I quickly rip his hand off my throat to keep from being consumed with him. This time he's dying for real.

I could see a little piece of his soul on the Underworld side, looking more dumbfounded than anything. Then his expression changed to one of panic as the Loa he had trapped ripped their way free from his spirit. Soon he was nothing but a trail of smoke, the last vestige of his humanity barely even there as he fades into nothingness.

 **A little test chapter; put in your review if you wanna see more.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II: Alone

Getting out was easy; pop some sharpie magic on a name tag and I've got an instant quick escape. More Troopers will be here soon and I'd rather not explain how me and only me survived the new "Texas Chainsaw Massacre: Reality Edition". I throw another don't-look-at-me speel on the Eldorado and head anywhere but here. About six miles out I see a line of State Troopers barreling down the highway.

I'd _really_ hate to be them right now. If there's any god out there listening: sorry about the mess and hope the dead Troopers' families end up okay. I stop the car on the side and watch the cruisers shrink into the distance.

And that's when the shakes start. You'd think after a lifetime of ghosts, magic and general paranormal activities that the shit Constanzo did wouldn't get to me. Well you're wrong.

I get out of the car and throw up my breakfast, lunch and yesterday's dinner all over the sidewalk. The dead I can handle, that I'll say. But what he did back there, what he could have done to me? That's fucked up.

I step back into the car, wiping my mouth on a crumpled up map and pulling up onto the road. Then I do what I normally do after shit like this: take all those bad thoughts and shove them back into the darkest pit of my mind, where they can't get in my way.

After about an hour, I cross over into New Mexico, making good time and rolling into Carlsonbad before sunset. I stop at a random hotel on the outskirts of town and get to settling down. It's a shit-hole of a hotel, but it's got cable TV, wifi and – oh goodie – a café and grocery next door. I grab a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red from the store.

As I turned the key to my door, I noticed I'd picked up a few wanderers, untethered ghosts that don't really do much other than float around. Most of them are trauma patients from a nearby hospital. You know, burn victims, car crashes, gunshots. The cool kids.

Ghosts are drawn to me like moths to a flame, or in my case, a bug zapper. I can see them and they can see me. They hover around me like a bunch of misty groupies. I scatter a handfull of sunflower seeds outside my door, stick a few post its with palindromes written on the doorjamb. If I really wanted to get rid of them I'd nail a dead cat to the windows, but I've always found that to be a bit extreeme.

The ghosts stop at the door, counting the seeds, reading the palindromes back and forth and doing it all over again like good little obsessive compulsives. I sigh a bit and close the door on their empty faces.

I take a cold shower to wash off the sweat and dust. The adrenaline kept me going back at the bar, so I didn't notice Constanzo had beat me pretty good till I was ten miles down the road. Bruises, cuts and about two of my ribs feel like they've been hit with a sledge hammer. Butterfly bandages take care of the worst cuts.

The bruises are hidden by all my tattoos; a hundred charms, wards and symbols inked onto my flesh. Everything from my neck to my wrists and ankles are covered. There's a whole myriad of them that I've forgotten what 70% of them do. The ones I do remember are usually the ones that help me focus my magic or keep me alive: one for sensing the presence of minor demons (those are the real bastards), another to ward off attacks against the mind, and another to help mess up gunfire. Does fuck all for baseball bats.

The Illustrated Man's got a tramp stamp compared to me. A lot of the tattoos on my wrists are covered in scars – old and fresh – seeing as a majority of my spells need blood. I'd rather use my own than carry around a black ram or something like that.

I don't bother with a glass as I crack open the Johnny Walker and take a big swig. I sit in a shitty looking chair nestled in the corner of the room and await my employer's arrival.

I bitch about the place I've got, but I don't really have much of a home anymore. After leaving New York, I've never done well staying in one place for too long. Roots are something I'll never lay down. Way I see it, my life is too fucked up to allow me to stay in one spot, so I'm condemned to an eternity of rest stops and cheap ass hotels. Walmart fashion and estate sale finds are my only source of clothing. I mean, I own three suits that were in fashion in the sixties. The rest of my stuff are from dead men.

I take another chug of whisky, when there's a sudden pounding on the door. I was pretty sure it was my employer, but in this business it's never good to assume, so I pulled out my knife and took a look through the peep hole.

"C'mon Di Angelo, are you gonna oogle me or let me in?" said the person on the other side. I threw my knife across the room, impaling it on the wall before opening the door. The dark skinned woman sauntered in and surveyed the area, probably looking to see if we were really alone. When she was satisfied, I offered her the chair as I stood by the door.

As Loa go, Baron Samedi, Kriminel and Samedi's wife, Maman Brigette arew about as high ranking as you can get. Now imagine all their magic, skills, tips and tricks were condensed into one person.

That's Hazel Levisque.

Don't be fooled, she may look like she's in her early twenties, but she was born in the 1930's and the pupil/adopted daughter of Baron Samedi, hence the training. She's been alive for more than nine decades and is the most powerful Voodoo mage in the south. Some even say she houses the spirits of Baron Samedi and Maman Brigette themselves, but she's never confirmed the claims.

"Hazel. You're late." I said

"Traffic was slow today, something about a mass murder in a bar in Texas." She says with a bit of a joking tone. I don't laugh.

"Funny. I know you Hazel, you're never late, something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. My Loa brothers and sisters have come home."

When Hazel hired me, she said that she was representing all the families. Constanzo had stolen a Loa from each one. They weren't afraid of him, but they were fairly concerned. Already so many were ensnaired by him that the Royalty didn't want to risk falling into his hands as well.

"Okay. So…?"

"I wanted to say thank you and give you your payment. As well as a warning." Hazel said. I took a big drink of my whisky to calm my nerves. She pulls out a small leather purse from her back pocket and hands it to me. I open it up to see… Doubloons?

"This isn't what we agreed upon."

"I know, but I had a bit of trouble. The other Royals agreed too hastily and they were bound by it. They don't really get the concept of a 'bank transfer'. I tried to tell them."

"I understand." I replied. Nothing I could do about it now. This was a bit of a problem, but luckily I know a guy who could move the coins. "You said something about a warning?"

"Beware who you trust." She says, her eyes glowing dangerously.

Great, it's one of those cryptic warnings. Why do people much more powerful than me never give straight questions and answers. It pisses me off.

"That's it?"

"I wish I could say more. I like you Nico, but the Royals were tight lipped about the details. You know, ancient rules and such." She got up from her chair and placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'd hate to see anything untoward happen. You're probably one of my last real friends so please, take care."

"Relax Haze, I'm still as ridiculously hard to kill as I was in New Orleans." I smirked. Inside joke.

Hazel smirked as well, heading for the door. But before she leaves, she looks at me one more time, searching my eyes for something.

"Truly beware. Things have already been set in motion, but your part has yet to begin. It starts tonight."

I shuddered. For a moment, I thought I saw Hazel's eyes change from her natural brown, to a deadly red shade.

What would be so bad that Hazel would hand deliver a warning? And one of the Loa spirits inside her as well?

I close the door behind her, wondering what Hazel meant, when the hotel phone rings.

I stare at it like it's a rattlesnake. I don't believe in coincidences, and this is definitely not a coincidence. I wait for it to stop and kick into the hotel's voice number. It has to be a wrong number. No one knows I'm here, and I mean nobody.

I put so many redirection spells down on my skin that it's a wonder I can still find myself ona map. Sure I can be tracked, but it's not easy.

Five rings. Ten. Twenty. I disconnect it from the wall, but it keeps ringing.

"Shit." That's what I was afraid of. It's _that_ kind of call. We get into a rhythm, the phone and I. It rings. I don't answer. I can do this all night. I let the phone go and toss back a couple more drinks.

There's a banging on the wall; my neighbor telling me to answer the goddamn phone. I ignore him and let it ring. The more the phone rings, the more pissed off I get. Someone has gone through a crap ton of trouble to find me.

Finally, after about half an hour, I pick up the phone, saying nothing as I wait for the person on the other side of the line to pick up.

"Hello Nico." Says the voice, quiet and hesitant. "I know you're there."

I know that voice. I haven't heard it in a long time. No use denying it.

"Been a while Percy. What, ten years?"

"Fifteen."

"How'd you track me down? Last time I saw you, you could barely move a drop of water."

"Annabeth. You're hard to track."

"Good, I'm not supposed to be." I said, hanging up the phone. I know it's cruel, but I'd rather not talk to Percy right now. Or ever. But as fate would have it, it starts ringing again before I get the handset into the cradle.

God damnit jackson.

"What?"

There was a beat of silence. "Bianca is dead."

I wanted to say "Bianca who?" but I know who he means. I haven't seen my sister since I left New York. Is Percy right? Has it been fifteen years? That would make her, what, thirty two?

"What happened?" I ask, the question barely coming out as a whisper.

"I'm sorry."

"Percy what the fuck happened?!" My voice grows louder.

There was no reply. If he was expecting me to wail and gnash my teeth, he's going to be waiting for a long time.

"Murdered." He said. "Something attacked her in her home."

"Some _thing_? I assume you're not talking about an animal."

"No. Thought he cops are saying that. They don't know what to call it. Nico… she was torn apart. It's bad. Really bad. And it stinks of magic."

"When."

"Three weeks ago. Annabeth's been trying to reach you since."

There's no doubt in my mind that Percy might be wrong. Bianca wasn't as powerful as me, but she sould have known enough to buy wards or some sort of protection. Unless she blew through the inheritance and trust fund after our parents died, she'd have been able to afford it.

That's when the emotions hit me like a dump truck. And I've actually been hit by a dump truck. A wave of grief starts to crack trhough. I want to scream. Puch something. Kill something. I slam that feeling down before it gets out of hand. Bury it where it can't get in the way. Where I can control it but not it me.

"Who did it and why?" my voice doesn't crack as I speak.

"No. We tried a divination at the house, but whatever did it covered it's tracks very well. But…"

"What?"

"I know it's been a long time, but, Castellan? That's why you left right?"

"Yeah, that's why I left." Now that's a name I haven't thought of in years. Haven't let myself.

"Well?"

"Let me think."

I left New York in a hurry. I didn't tell anyone I was leaving, but everyone knew why. I killed a guy named Luke Castellan. I was just as surprised ans everyone else when it happened. I was raw then. Angry. I've learned a lot since then.

He ran a mob that like fucking around with us magic types. Human gangs may have been pushed out of New York, but the magical ones still thrived, they just called for less attention. Luke had some powerful mages on his side. I pissed off a lot of people when I kicked his bucket.

"No." I said. It can't be him. "It can't be. You ever hear of a guy named Mayasaki? Asian guy, with an eyepatch. He'd probably be in his fourties now. He worked for Castellan."

"Hey man, I stayed out of that mess after it happened. As much as any of us could."

"Smart. He was pretty high up the food chain. Gave me a choice, either leave or he'd kill me, Bianca and pretty much everyone that I know."

The silence on the other end stretched for a long time.

"Well that explains a lot." Percy said, though something told me that wasn't a good enough excuse.

I pressed my fingers into my eyes, trying to rub out the tiredness and emotion. Now is not the time.

"There's no reason he would've done anything."

I'm trying to treat this like a job; to distance myself emotionally as much as possible. But my control is wavering.

"Were are you now?" Percy asked.

"New Mexico."

I haven't thought about Bianca in years. Our parents died a long time ago and I'm certain we don't have any other family.

Fuck. The funeral. Someone needs to make arrangements for the funeral.

How do I do that? I don't go to funerals. Too many ghosts. Too many disturbances.

"Funeral. I need to… fucking shit Percy I need to set up the funeral."

"It's okay, it's done." Percy replied. "She's with your mom and dad. I took care of it."

Suddenly I'm angry. Angry at myself. Angry at Percy. How dare he; I was supposed to do that. I'm the brother. I couldn't keep her safe when I was there and I couldn't keep her safe when I left. The least I could have done was set up the fucking funeral. The least Percy could have let me done.

Did a lot of people show up? I don't even know who her friends were. Was she dating anyone? Did she get married? Holy fuck, what if she had kids.

I pulled myself together and took a deep breath.

"Right. Thanks. I'll be there in, fuck, give me a couple of days. Where can I meet you?"

"I run a bar on the east side. I'm there every day." He gives me the adress and his phone number.

I'm not sure which of us is more surprised. Him about me coming back or me tha the owns a business. Last time I saw Percy he was running cons in Brooklyn. Jesus, what the else has changed.

"There's a bouncer," he said. "Tell him you're there to see me. He'll let you in."

"Sound upscale."

"I prefer to keep the riff-raff out."

"I'll see you there."

I hang up the phone, realizing too late that I didn't ask all the questions I had about Bianca. I'd try to call back, but that wasn't the kind of call that leaves a return number. I get my breathing under control, fight the urge to throw up all over again. But I do it anyway.

They said I could never come back home. Guess I'm about to find out if that's the case.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III: Home

The car ride back was like driving through mud. At least, in my eyes it was. My head was swimming with a hundred thoughts, but no real ideas. I couldn't concentrate, I couldn't do anything, all I could do was keep my eyes on the road and my foot on the gas.

It's been a day or so since I left New Mexico. I've slept for all about two hours and am getting close to passing out on the wheel. I could stop at some roadside motel and take a well needed nap, but as much as my body wanted it, my mind kept forcing me to speed as fast as I could to New York.

To home.

I couldn't get the image of Bianca out of my head: back when we were kids, my older sister was the world to me. She was a mother, sister and best friend all rolled into one, even with our parents around she was mostly the one who took care of me.

Then they died.

A house fire got them. The police said it was a gas leak, but anyone with even a whiff of magic could tell it wasn't as mundane as a gas leak. My parents were pretty well known in the magic circles, especially my dad. They were good people, some would even say righteous. But that meant they made enemies of the more… unsavory variety.

I was angry at the time, I wanted revenge. Bianca tried to stop me, or would have if she knew what I was planning to do. I won't go into details, but let's just say I fucked up the guy who did it so bad, not even dying would end the pain.

This was one of the things running through my head as I exited the Holland Tunnel and entered Lower Manhattan. It was like I was in Back to The Future. The city was so different from when I'd last been here, and yet, still exactly the same. I made my way to the Lower East side, taking in all the sights, old and new.

I'd arrived at the address he gave me and stepped out of the Cadalac, completely caught off guard by what stood before me. When I'd heard Percy had gotten a bar, especially one on east side Manhattan, I was skeptical. I'd orignially expected it to be some run-down back-alley pub filled to the brim with gangbangers and gullible idiots.

What I didn't expect was a very well kept, upscale looking bar, despite the dozens of people shifting inside. With a large, lighted sign above the door: _Riptide_ had a very home-y sort of atmosphere, but still had the feel of a place you could party, get drunk and make bad decisions. A strange feeling passed over me, but I brushed it off as I tried to step through the entrance, a solid black door with a small window at the top, a large body stepped in front of me.

Now, I'm around five-foot-eleven, so when I find that my eye-level is basically staring at someone else's chest, I get worried. My eyes trailed up to see a large, monster of a man staring down at me with cold, sky blue eyes. Looking at him, I'm not sure what actually freaks me out more, his sheer size or the hundreds of tattoos all over his body – all of which were the outlines of hundreds of eyes staring in every direction.

"Hi… I'm guessing you're the bouncer." I said awkwardly. He grunted, but made no move to return the greeting. "Okay then. I'm… uh… here to see Percy?"

He narrowed his eyes for a good five seconds before grunting and stepping aside, opening the door for me to enter.

"Thanks." I said, quickly entering the bar to avoid any more interaction with the scary bouncer.

Stepping through the door, I was greeted to an explosion of chatter from dozens of people. The place was packed, dozens of people were here having fun and getting drunk. I could barely hear myself think from all the noise of people talking, shouting and singing if you listened hard enough.

If I'm going to be honest, I'd never expected _Percy_ of all people to end up with something like this. I met Percy around five years before I left New York. Back then, we were ten and living completely different lives. He was a hurt kid with an abusive step-father and loving, but hurt mother while I was having a happy childhood (or at least I tried) with two loving parents and a protective sister.

The only thing that brought us together was that we both lived in Queens, 7 train to school and a knack for magic. Although his talents weren't as… extreme as mine, there was still some to be had.

I remember him dragging me to random neighborhoods and using me as a human ghost detector. He did this to try and see if he could impress the dearly departed with his "water magic", or levitating one droplet of water out of a puddle and onto their heads (which passed through because… ghosts). Ghosts are dangerous, even if they're dead. More often then not I had to grab Percy by the neck before we got eaten or drained of our blood. Yes that can happen, I've seen it before.

At the time, I really didn't like doing it. But as we grew, our friendship grew, and eventually, it became something… more. Okay fine, I'm gay alright. The world's first gay Necromancer!

Percy on the other hand is bisexual, so between him and a then fourteen year old closeted homosexual, something just clicked. We were in a relationship for about a year before my parents died. After that, and succeding my vengeful rampage, we broke it off. I'd learned a few years late from a friend of a friend that he'd gotten with our mutual best friend Annabeth Chase.

Honestly, I was torn by the news. I was happy that Percy was finally in a relationship, but sad at the fact that we wouldn't be together anymore. But maybe it's for the best.

I made my way through the mass of people and luckily found an empty chair in the middle of the bar. I placed my elbows on the bar and just sat there blankly staring at the tabletop, pulling up whatever memories I had of Bianca in my head.

She was my older sister of about two years, but that didn't stop her from being like a mother to me. Don't get me wrong, my mother loved and cared for me. But Bianca was just there more. When I was young, people said we went together like doughnuts and sprinkles. And it was true. Except in one area: I was the more magically inclined than the both of us.

I said before that in magic, you either have it or you don't. Well I had it, a lot of it. Too much in fact that that no one, not even my parents who were powerful magicians in their own right couldn't understand my full potential. Not even I understood it. I still don't. But I digress, Bianca on the other hand had… let's say minimal talent. While I was chanting spells and conjuring fireballs, Bianca could barely lift a coin into the air.

But that never got her down. She was always smiling, talking about being a "late bloomer" and always working on her damn coin trick.

" _One day baby brother. One day I'll blow your mind with this coin trick."_

That's what she'd tell me after every magic lesson.

I never got to see her do it.

And now I never will.

It wasn't until the third time he called my name that I really heard the bartender.

"What?" I asked, raising my head.

"I said would you like a drink?" he asked.

The bartender was… well in my eyes fairly good looking. The black vest and white polo did nothing to hide his surfer's body: athletic build lightly tanned skin. His blonde hair was stunning, but not as much as his deep blue eyes that I really didn't want to stop looking into. Even the name on his nametag seemed to be attractive: "Will Solace".

If it were any other day, I'd happily reply and order a drink, but it isn't any other day, and I'm too depressed to even _want_ a drink. And I always want a drink.

"Sorry. No, it's fine. Just waiting to meet someone." I said and the bartender – Will – smiled.

"Hey, no problem. How about a glass of water then?" His smile was toxic, and I cursed god for making him so attractive, and me so gay.

"Yeah. Okay." Was all I could say to keep myself from acting like a fool. He nodded and went over to the side, coming back a few seconds later with a glass of iced water and a coaster. I thanked him, taking a sip from the glass, my eyes returning to the table. However, when I looked back up, Will was still in front of me leaning on the tabletop.

"Uh… can I help you?" I asked and Will just shrugged.

"No, it's just… you seem kinda lonely so… I guess… I just wanted to talk?"

I raised my eyebrow, but Will just shrugged and grinned like an idiot. I sighed in exhasperation, taking another sip of water.

"Fine."

"Great! So… heard you were meeting someone? Got a hot date? Girlfriend maybe?" He wiggled his eyebrows annoyingly, much to my chagrin. When I didn't reply, he frowned, but smiled again:

"Or boyfriend perhaps?" I looked up and narrowed my eyes, he smiled even wider. "I knew it!"

"Shut up Solace." I muttered.

"Hey hey, I don't judge, I'm gay myself so we have that in common I hope Mr…" I widened my eyes as I forgot to introduce myself.

"Crap. Sorry, it's Nico. Nico di Angelo." At the mention of my name, Will's expression went from welcoming to shocked.

"Wait… _you're_ Nico di Angelo? _The_ Nico di Angelo?!" Will then came up closer and whispered: "The _Necromancer_?"

I narrowed my eyes at his reaction. I don't have a reputation with a lot of people, but those that do know me either want to hire me or kill me. Lately it's been more of the latter.

"The Necro-what?" I feigned ignorance. If this guy is a normal then I can treat him like a crackpot, plagued with misinformation. But if he's a magician? I may have to go all "Dungeons and Dragons" on his ass, no matter how good looking he may be.

"Oh, right, sorry. I've got magic too so no need to beat around the bush, Percy and Annabeth train me." At the sound of that, I relaxed, my hand pulling away from my knife sheathed around the back of my waist. "They told me to be on the lookout for 'a ball of sadness called Nico di Angelo'. I'm guessing that's you?"

"Really? 'A ball of sadness'?" I deadpanned.

"Hey, their words not mine! I'll take you to them now if you'd like?"

I paused for a moment. This is it, my official return home starts with a reunion with my ex and his girlfriend.

Great.

"Mind giving me a shot of vodka first?" I said. Will grinned as he reached under the bar, pulling out a shot glass and Smirnoff, pouring the drink and sliding it over to me.

"It's on the house." He replied, winking. I raised my glass, giving him a ghost of a smile before downing the Vodka. I felt the alcohol burn down my throat and crash into my stomach, the feeling almost comforting before I flipped the glass and slammed it on the table.

"Ah… fuck it. Let's go." I said before following Will to a door marked 'Employees Only'.

He knocked on the door three times, before someone inside shouted c _ome in_.

Will opened the door and gestured for me to go in. I took a deep breath and stepped through as he closed the door behind me, leaving me in alone to face my fate. The office was a modest one, not anything over decorated or boring, just a fairly normal office space with filing cabinets, a desk and desktop computer.

"Jesus Christ Nico, you look like crap." Spoke a deep, soothing voice. I looked ahead and… there he was. Percy Jackson. He was exactly as I remembered him, except more mature. His sea green eyes still somehow captivated me, and his slight smirk gave me a few butterflies, but I kept my composure as much as possible.

"It's been a rough week." I replied. His smirk grew and he stood up, coming over to me and putting his hand out.

"It's good to see you again Death Breath." The nickname caught me off guard. It was his nickname for me back when we were… together.

"Yeah, you too Captain Salt Water." I gave him a small smirk before taking his hand. However, I didn't expect him to pull me closer and embrace me. My eyes widened and I squirmed, but after a while I just melted in his arms, just letting him hold me. My mind went back to the good old days, when everything wasn't evil ghost hunting and weeklong roadtrips, but nice, quiet nights with loved ones looking at the New York skyline.

"Dammit, I really wish I had my camera." Spoke someone else. I shoved myself out of Percy's hug and turned to face who spoke, to have my breath hitch in my throat.

"Annabeth." I said. Even after all these years, despite all the blood, gore and madness I've faced, her piercing grey eyes still unsettled me: calculating and analytical. Me and Percy always used to have a lot of "dumb blonde" comments, even though we both knew her golden har had no effect on her intelligence. As far as I knew, both she and Percy had some magic at their disposal and although Percy was the slightly stronger of the two, Annabeth was more knowledgable in terms of charms and spells.

"Hey there Nico. It's been a while." She said, moving to hug me as well. I wanted to deny her, but I felt she deserved it so I let it happen. Don't get me wrong, that wasn't a jealousy thing, I just don't like a lot of people touching me.

"Yeah, it has." I replied. She let go, putting her hands on my shoulders looking at me sadly.

"I'm sorry about Bianca. I really am. We were good friends since you… um…"

"Left? Ran? Abandoned everyone?" I finished, raising an eyebrow. Annabeth looked mortified, but I gave her a smile and she relaxed.

"That's my Nico!" Percy said, flinging his arm over my shoulders, shocking me. "I never thought I'd be so happy to hear your dead humor again!"

Annabeth elbowed Percy in the ribs and he yelped in pain.

"Percy! Not exactly a good time for jokes." Annabeth scolded as Percy rubbed his ribs.

"No, Annabeth." I said, catching her attention. "It's alright. I-I missed this."

Annabeth smiled, slightly warming my heart.

"Alright. Percy, I'm going out for a bit to help around. I think we've got someone hitting on Solace again." She waved before stepping out of the office, leaving me and Percy alone once more.

"You know, I tell her she needs to take breaks, but I think 'break' is the one word not in her vocabulary." Percy joked, but then his attitude took a somber turn. "Look, Nico, about me and Annabeth…"

"No," I cut him off. "it's alright. I get it. After what I did and me leaving, it's only fair that you find someone less… problematic."

Percy looked even more remorseful, but I placed my hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes.

"Thank you, Percy for taking care of Bianca. Really."

"You're welcome." Percy smiled. He moved from my reach, going for something under his desk. He revealed a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red and two glasses. "I remember how you always had a thing for this. Saved one just for you."

I thanked him as he poured me a glass, handing it to me.

"To your sister." He said, raising his glass, and I returned the gesture.

" _A mia sorella._ " I replied. Our glasses clinked together and we both took a swig, the bronze liquor searing down our throats.

"Ah, damn. I'm more of a Coke guy myself. Wow." Groaned Percy.

"Wimp." I retorted and he chuckled.

We went on for a good hour, reminescing about old times, and catching up on time lost. Turns out, Percy and Annabeth are engaged. I wasn't bitter, in fact, I was extatic: Percy found someone who could finally keep his stupidity in check. He flipped me the bird for that comment.

I told them what I'd been doing the past fifteen years: spent the first few off globetrotting. South America, Europe, I even spent a couple of months in the Philippines. He said he'd heard things, I asked what, he replied with "bad things" I filled him in that I'm a sort of exterminator: ghosts, demons, gremlins, basically anything bad that wants to murder a lot of people. Well, I'm the guy who you call to kill the shit people normally can't kill.

We spoke about Bianca: turns out she is… was lesbian. Guess it runs in the family or something. Though she never did find that special someone, so no kids – thank god. She took up interior design; made the best living room setup in all of Queens. Or at least that's what Percy said.

Percy and Annabeth kept their eyes on her as much as they could. They sensed something was off after I left, but they didn't really see anything untoward.

"And she stayed away from the magic?" I asked

"Eh, mostly. She did small stuff like wards and charms, just to keep out wandering spirits and bad luck. Although, she never stopped working on that stupid coin toss."

I froze at the statement.

"Coin toss?" I whispered.

"Yeah man, remember? How she made us flip that silver dollar a couple of hundred times to get it to land on its side three times in a row? Man, you should have seen her when she got it down."

"She did it?" I said. I could feel my expression lighting up and Percy smiled, nodding his head.

"Yeah. Five times in a row." I was elated. But my mood instantly darkened as soon as I realised:

"I was never there. I never saw it." Percy looked at me sadly.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up about it." Percy said, but that didn't really improve my self esteem. He had a thoughtful look on his face before an expression of realisatoin crossed his face.

"Hey, I know what'll help cheer you up!" I looked at Percy as he went over to his filing cabinets. He reached behind the cabinets, searching for something. He looked like he grabbed hold of something and pulled his arm back, causing a panel in the wall to slide open, revealing something that made my blood run cold.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." I said but Percy just grinned like the absolute moron he is.

"I know right?" He said. In the secret storage panel in Percy's wall was a black, intricately designed birdcage. The bars were thick and depicted a number of strange, shifting masses that seemed to move if you looked close enough. It was like someone welded a thousand little corpses into a black, steel cage.

"Is that an _ebony cage_?" I asked and Percy nodded.

"Yep. Connected right to the bar."

"Aren't those just like wicker baskets made from demons' bones?"

"Yeah, cool right?"

"You do know those demons are still _alive_ yes?" I could feel a sort of malice and hunger radiating off the cage, and I'm sure Percy could too.

"Oh yeah, but it's cool so long as no one breaks the cage. That's why I keep it in the wall." He said, closing the hatch. "I'm not an idiot Nico, I've got the damn thing warded six ways to Sunday. I siphon the energy in this place every weekend for about a year."

I was about to ask how he did that, but then my mind clicked and I noticed something I never really paid attention to before.

See, magic is fueld by a lot of things: belief, emotions, strong experiences, etc. It's like water, flowing and shifting to fit wherever it's placed or passed through. That's why I got a strange feeling about this place when I walked in, Percy, or I'm guessing Annabeth had this place set up like a funnel, from the placement of the bar, to the doors and emergency exits.

It's pretty much Feng Shui on meth and cocaine at the same time.

"Christ, what the hell do you do with all that energy?"

Percy smiled as he pulled open a drawer on his desk, pulled something out and tossed it over to me. I grabbed it midair, and immediately I felt a pressure in my hand, as if something was trying to break out. I examined the object, noticing that it was a glass bottle with a cork stopper, both of which were etched with lead painted runes.

"Magic in a bottle baby."

"No shit?"

"Special made glass. Solid like a rock. Had to spell the cork for intention, well, Annabeth did. You can only open it if you want to open it. Keeps the stuff from getting out. It's pretty easy to harvest, a sports program on the TV and half off cover for girls."

"And you just tap the energy and shut it in the cage."

"Yep, then I just draw off the power and stopper it up, then boom, magic in a bottle."

I've seen these before, tried it in fact, though I regretted it soon after I found out what was _really_ inside this.

"You do know you're basically serving _demon piss_ in bottles right?" I raised my eyebrow and Percy laughed loudly.

"Heck yeah."

"And people drink this stuff?"

"Course. Tastes kinda like blue coke." He grinned. "Hell, I even know a guy who likes it in an enema?"

I was now seriously disgusted by that overshare and handed the bottle back to Percy.

"Yeah, no thanks." I said and he laughed.

"Suit yourself." He then proceeded to uncork the bottle and down the contents. After finishing, litteral _fire_ flew from his mouth and he shook his head and groaned.

"Woooah! What a rush!" I had to keep myself from throwing up as Percy laughed his ass off.

We then ran out of things to talk about and remained silent for a good minute and I sat down on the guest chair facing the office desk.

"What happened Percy?" I finally asked and he looked down, taking a seat in his office chair and another swig of the scotch.

"It was about a week ago. The neighbors called it in after noticing blood on her window." Percy placed his glass on his desk, running his hand through his hair before continuing.

"The police found her in her kitchen. We never saw the body, but they said there… there was barely anything left to see."

I clenched my fist at the thought, as much as I didn't want to think it.

"They… they said someone broke into her house at night. Ambushed her in her kitchen. She fought back, but, her attacker, they said he had the strength of an ox. She didn't stand a chance."

Percy ended there, but judging from his face, I knew there was more to the story.

"Percy, what else?" When he didn't reply, I leaned in closer, looking at him with furious eyes. "What. Else."

He was silent for a good five seconds before caving. I almost wish he hadn't.

"He tortured her Nico. He fucking tortured Bianca."

That was it. That was _fucking_ it. At that moment I knew, that I would not rest, I would not stop until I found whoever did this and make sure I give them the most painful, horrifying death they'd ever experience.

"Where's her house?"

"Nico…"

"Dammit Jackson, tell me where's her fucking house!"

"And what do you expect to find that the cops haven't already? Hell, I've even had _Jason_ go over that shit and he didn't find anything."

"I'm not like those cops, or fucking Jason. I can see shit that they can't I can find this bastard!" We looked into each other's eyes, our wills battling it out to see who gave in first.

I won.

Percy sighed before grabbing a post-it and writing something on it before handing it to me.

"It's in Queens." I nodded in silence before getting up to leave. However, Percy suddenly grabbed my wrist.

"What are you going to do?" He asked. I shook his hand off before storming out the door, not bothering to look back as I replied.

"Something you can't."


End file.
